


Gray is the Way

by orphan_account



Series: Gray is the Way [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:07:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29038347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is my first fic and I'm honestly not really sure what I'm doing but I figured I'd give it a shot. I'm planning on continually adding chapters so feel free to leave suggestions and recommendations. Picks up a little more after the first chapter....When Nal Vilzu felt the force pulling on her that night several months ago, she tried to ignore it. Despite her best efforts, she could not help but respond to the young jedi calling out to her. Since first tracking down the source of the call, she has found herself sucked deeper and deeper into the lives of Grogu and the Mandalorian. She has been travelling with the duo, training Grogu in the ways of the force, and even assisting Mando with his bounties. As a gray dathomirian jedi she is always hesitant to form bonds with anyone but the father and son slowly start to sneak into her heart over the many quests and lessons they go through together....Sci-fi, star wars/mandalorian alt au/ season 2 alt ending/ slow burn romance/ original main character/action...Quick sketch of Din and Nal fighting battle droids. Not great quality but helps with imagery :^)
Series: Gray is the Way [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130318
Kudos: 1





	1. Got Your Back

> “Shit”, I mutter as a bolt of light streaks towards me. There are too many plasma bolts all at once and from too many directions. By the time I use my light sabers to deflect from one side, another volley of shots is coming at me from the next; and I’m about to be hit. The deadly beam is hurtling right for me. 

A flash of beskar intercepts the bolt. The man of metal takes the hit for me. He stumbles backwards from the force of the shot hitting his armor, and he collides into me. I’m stable on my feet though, and I help hold him up against the hail of blaster fire he’s taking. His heavily armored body rocks against my side as blast after blast pins him to me. My strength is dwindling. My thighs are throbbing from the effort of supporting both of us. My shoulders ache from wielding my light sabers for so long. It’s been hours. We’ve been on this enemy ship for too long. I’m only glad that we left the child back on the razor rest, still docked on the side of the larger enemy ship.

> “This had better be worth it!” I shout to Mando over the commotion.

His voice, made quieter and slightly modulated by his mask, responds, “I told you all the extra loot is yours-” he is cut off by a plasma bolt striking him in the side of the head. “And this guy’s got a lot of extra loot.” 

‘He’d better,” I think to myself as I continue blocking the blasts from the droids I’ve been unofficially delegated to eliminate. A whistling goes off besides me and I know from the sound that he’s just deployed a handful of tiny missiles at his own squad of enemy droids. Twelve of them go down in seconds. He pushes himself off of my back, no longer relying on me as a support base, and turns to help. “Cover me,” I say, ducking below the general level at which the shots are being fired. He distracts the battle droids by becoming their most obvious threat. In two long, deft swipes, I slice off the arms of the first row of attackers. I leap through their ranks, using my light sabers to remove entire rows of R0-GR heads, blasters, and legs. Between Mando’s skills with a blaster and my training with dual weaponry, the battle droids are a sparking, zapping, ‘roger-rogering’ mess in no time. 

I retract my purple plasma blades into their hilts. Mando lowers his blaster but does not holster it. “These are some well fortified droid smugglers,” I pant. “I’ve never seen such filthy rich pirates- I mean just look at their ship!” It is a massive labyrinth of identical winding corridors and storage rooms. The mandalorian says nothing. He only raises the tracking fob. It blinks encouragingly. We must be close. He stalks past me, gesturing to my arm wordlessly. I glance down. Silvery-azure blood leaks from a large but surface level gash across my pale skin. The adrenaline of battle has kept me from noticing. It still does in a way. The surging excitement rushing through my veins keeps the pain at bay. I take a quick moment to shutter my eyes and breath deeply. As oxygen fills my lungs, I call upon the force, letting it too fill my being. It is always within my reach when I need it. There is a familiar comfortable warmth as my mind’s fingertips reach for the force. I can feel my worn muscles ease and gain strength as the force revitalizes me. 

When I open my eyes again the mandalorian is waiting patiently at the end of the hall. His stance is not one of annoyance but rather, judging by the tilt of his helmet, one of interest. My wound is healed. I imagine he is curious to know if I can teach such healing abilities to Grogu. That is after all, the real reason I’m here with him in the first place. All of this bounty-hunting bullshit is just for extra cash. I originally joined him in response to the Child’s call. I felt his tug on the force so intensely that night several months ago that I had to go find him. I didn’t have a choice in the matter. The force would not allow me any sort of peace until I did. 

> I jog towards the tall man wrapped in beskar. He jerks his head towards the doorway. “Should be in here.”
> 
> I nod.

He waves a gloved hand before a sensor. A metallic eyeball of sorts pops from an opening in the wall. It surveys us carefully for about 0.5 seconds flat before Mando aims his blaster at it. Its metal eyelids seem to grow wider just before a blast of red hot light fries its gears. 

I whip out my lightsabers and plunge them deep into the thick, rusting metal of the vault-like door. I grit my teeth as I carve a large circle in it. We peek through. Clear. Mando and I dart between the still smoking edges of the hole into our destination room. Took us long enough. 

The RA-7 droid waits dormant at the other end of the room. It’s huge eyes are dark as it charges. Mando makes a beeline for it. I can tell that he too feels more than ready to get off of this damn smuggler ship. I step after him when a flash of motion catches my eye. A man in heavy looking robes pops up from behind a desk with a blaster in hand. Instinctively, my hand lashes forth; and just in time. A shot rings out. I feel the power of the force flow through me as my gut channels the energy through my hand. Before I have time to think, I have the man pinned against the grimy wall. His feet flail under him, desperately searching for a surface to stand on. His hands claw at his throat. It is no use. His life is in my hands and I’m feeding off of the life which is slowly draining from him. The plasma bolt would’ve hit my companion square in the neck if I hadn’t have shifted him. Mando doesn’t give the struggling man a second glance as he works to unplug and boot up the droid. 

> “Please,” the man gasps. He drops his weapon as a sign of surrender. I continue to crush his windpipe. We simply cannot afford any more risks. I don’t enjoy squeezing the life from his lungs but I do what I have to do. Always have and always will. None of that Jedi code fuckery for me. 
> 
> Mando grunts in exasperation, delivering a small kick to the leg of the RA-7. He’s never been good with droids.
> 
> “Need a hand?” I ask, hoping I don’t come off condescending. He doesn’t answer verbally but by the way he abandons the droid and focuses on the man I have pinned, I understand perfectly. We swap jobs. It takes less than a minute for the droid to come back to life. 

“Let's move,” Mando says. His deep voice sounds rough and I can’t help but admire it. He doesn’t choose to share his voice very often, but each time he does it is music to my ears. I hate myself for it. My role is just to train Grogu and occasionally help with bounties. I refuse to fall for a man I’ve never seen and barely know. Besides, I’m too busy for that sort of thing. 

The droid begins moving and we head out of the room. However, it quickly becomes apparent that RA-7s are not built for speed. I check the time. We have three minutes before the next hall patrol passes through. We have to cover two floors worth of corridors before then. There is simply no way this protocol droid can make it. Once the giant heap of ruined battle droids is discovered security will be increased tenfold. I estimate we have ten minutes to get back to the wing that the RazorCrest is docked on.

> “Mando this will never work,” I say restlessly. 
> 
> He turns back to look at the droid trudging along behind. He too checks our time. He silently agrees.
> 
> “Should we just take its drive? It will still have all the info the client wants.”
> 
> “No,” he replies shortly. “The client wants it complete and undamaged.” He stalks back towards it and scoops the droid over his shoulders with a slight grunt. The clanking and screeching of the droid against his armor is excruciatingly loud.
> 
> “Damn they’ll find us before they find the fucked up battle droids.” 

He jogs on without a word but I swear I hear a small chuckle muffled under the helmet.


	2. Pit Stop on Corellia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After retrieving the RA-7 droid, Nal and Din stop by Corellia on their way to Tattoine. Turns out Tattoine may take longer to reach than they thought...
> 
> Super rough sketch but you get the idea🤦😂😂

. . .

  
I watch silently as the stars streak by in a tunnel of white blurs. Hyperspace makes the quiet hum of the ship’s mechanics that much more noticeable. Peace covers me like a blanket whenever the RazorCrest is speeding through space like this. My past can’t chase me when I’m going this fast.

I curl my long legs up on my seat; the only other one in the cockpit asides from the pilot’s seat. Mando’s helmet reflects the smeared stars from where he sits at the controls. Grogu sleeps in my lap, his sweet little head resting on my knees. On the floor my anooba hound, Spikes, snores too. I roll the little silver ball Grogu loves so much between my forefinger and thumb. Asides from the soft breaths of Grogu and the dog, everything is still. I savor the moment. I signed on to train Grogu in the ways of the force but lately I’ve found myself doing an unwarranted amount of babysitting. He’s not easy to watch out for. 

“Dropping out of hyperspace in a minute,” Mando suddenly grunts from the pilot’s seat. I acknowledge his statement with a soft hum. A moment of comfortable silence ensues and I don’t expect anything more from him, but he is always full of surprises. “And thank you Nal.” 

“For what?” I ask, confused.

“You saved my life back on that pirate ship. If you wouldn’t have used your…” He gestures his gloved hand. “...I dunno magic or whatever- I would’ve never seen him. The guy behind the desk. I would be dead and the kid would probably be screwed too. So thanks.” 

I don’t know how to respond so I do what I always do. I defuse the atmosphere with a bit of humor. “Yeah,” I huff, “tell me something I don’t know. I’m always saving your ass. You would’ve died way back on Yavin if it weren’t for me.” 

“A hunter is never too proud to take help from another hunter.”

“I’m not officially registered with a guild you know.” 

“You should be.” His voice is so low that I barely hear his response, and I’m not entirely sure that I’m meant to. 

The blurred stars slow and seem to double back on themselves until they reform into their regular shapes. “Are we at Tatooine already?” I ask. 

“No. Corellia.”

“That shithole? I thought the droid was for Bib Fortuna. Bib Fortuna-” I chuckle. “What a name.”

“It is. We’re just stopping here to dump a victim and refuel.” 

I wonder which of the dozen carbon-frozen quarries below will be leaving our ship. I soon find out. The planet swells before us as the ship dips into the atmosphere. It is a marble of blue and gray. As the surface continues surging towards us, I discern the millions of gray-toned buildings that make up the vast majority of Corellia’s land mass. He docks the RazorCrest on top of some smog obscured, three hundred story tall ship yard. 

I disappear for just a quick moment to wrap Grogu in a warm blanket, and when I return, the metallic outline of an Ithorian is being carted off of the Razor Crest and onto a beat up cruiser ship. I stand in the belly of the ship with Grogu in my arms and Spikes waiting patiently at my side. We watch as Mando and a rough looking man exchange a few words I cannot make out. The man extends his hand in a departing handshake. Mando looks pointedly down at the man’s outstretched hand, looks back up, and simply tips his head in the man’s direction. When he turns back to us I glimpse the gleam of shiny credits slipping into his belt. The cruiser zooms away with the carbon-frozen bounty in tow.

“Refueling will take awhile. Are you thirsty?”

I’m taken off guard. Mando has never inquired as to whether I’m “hungry or thirsty” before. He doesn’t wait for a response. My anooba and I walk down the gangplank into the heavily polluted atmosphere of Corellia. Grogu coughs weakly against my chest in response to the sudden change of air quality. Oxygen aboard the ship can get stuffy at times to be sure, but the atmosphere of Corellia is downright deadly. I hold the child tighter and closer as if that will spare him from the toxic oxygen. Even Spikes wretches a bit. I reach down, stroking his long white hair as Mando locks the gangplank away, closing the ship. I clip Spikes’ bounds-collar on. It will keep him from straying more than the programmed distance from me. Since Corellia is so crowded and dangerous, I give him a short range . The last thing I need is for my dog to get run over by one of these souped-up Corellian ships.

We head for an elevator at the parallel corner of the docking station. The inside smells of cigarette smoke and sweat. Spikes sniffs at the dirt stained carpet all the way down to the ground level. I wonder if Mando can smell through his helmet. Perhaps he has some sort of air filter built in. If so, I’m jealous.

We step out of the docking station and I’m immediately overwhelmed by the lights, passing shuttles, and overflow of humanoids and creatures congesting the streets. It’s raining hard. Apparently in the short time between when we entered the elevator and when we emerged, the city brewed up a heavy storm. The hair along my arms raises from the chill. My cropped top does little to keep me warm in this weather and I have no jacket to tuck Grogu under. I do my best to fold his blanket around his head and protect him from the rain. However, his oversized ears make it difficult. With a shrug, I step out into the roar of splattering rain and rushing vehicles. I’ve been through _much_ worse weather and I’m confident Grogu will be fine.Something hooks around my hand though. I stumble back under the awning of the docking station at the pull of Mando’s hand in mine. 

Mando shoves a fist against my leather- armored shoulder. I stumble back a step before realizing he has his cloak gripped in his fist. He’s offering it to me in his own dorky stoic way. 

“Oh,” I gasp, “you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.” 

“It’s not for you. It’s for the kid.”

A flush of heat overtakes my face. I can feel the bright pink saturating my cheeks. Drowning in embarrassment, I wrap the thick cloth about my shoulders and slip Grogu underneath. He moves and I follow sheepishly. 

As we walk, a thought slips into my mind. If the cape was meant for the kid, then why didn’t he just take the kid himself? It would’ve been easier for him to simply carry Grogu himself. The embarrassment drains just a little bit from my face, replaced by the briefest and smallest of smirks. Although I know I’m probably reading too much into things, I at least like to pretend that he gave both of us the cloak but felt too embarrassed to say so. 

The streets are whirling in the chaos of vendors packing up their merchandise and taking down their stalls. Windows are shuttered against the icy shower and shop canopies are being folded up. Words shouted in half a dozen different languages are lost to the sounds of the storm. I follow Mando for at least a block before he suddenly veers into a dingy looking hole-in-the-wall. 

An electronic bell lets out a slow, dying ring as the automatic door slides open for us. The small cantina is surprisingly full of people seeking either a drink or shelter from the rain. The din of the outside world is replaced by the clanking of tankards and the live music playing quietly from the back. There is a very brief silence that one might not notice unless you’re the cause of it. There’s always a still moment whenever we walk into a place like this. I know exactly what the words, “Jedi,” “Mandalorian,” and “What is that?” look like on any set of lips. 

I’m not oblivious to the gazes that trail in after us as we make our way to a booth at the back of the cantina. The stares happen often enough that I know exactly in what order and duration to expect their attention. The beskar catches their attention and my lightsabers hold their attention. Grogu and Spikes keep everyone glancing back at us from time to time. It used to make me uncomfortable, having so many eyes trained on me, but after a couple of months with the mandalorian I’ve grown more at ease in the spotlight. It helps to have someone to share the stares with.

We all slide into a threadbare booth. Spikes hops up too, resting his head in my lap. His tall, sharp ears rise over the edge of the table and his long tail flicks contentedly over the side of the booth. I pass the child to Mando over the table and start unwrapping myself from the heavy cloak he loaned me. 

“Don’t.” The sound of his voice takes me off guard. I freeze, hands still pulling the cloak from my shoulders. He clears his throat, “You’ll need it when we go back out.” 

I nod once towards him. So I didn’t imagine it; he really does want me to have it. “Thanks.”

A twi’lek waitress approaches us apprehensively. “What can I get for you guys?” 

I order for three as usual. Grogu, myself, and the dog. Mando never eats or drinks around us. Sometimes I wonder if he’s even a living being at all. “One paddy frog, one jawa juice, a ryshcate, and whatever scraps you can find for this guy.” I gestured down to the beast in my lap. The waitress glanced at Spikes quickly as if ignoring his presence would make him disappear entirely. I look to Mando to double check that he doesn’t want anything. I always check and he always refuses. Today is no different. 

“Coming right up,” she assures before hurrying away. 

The food is delicious. I hadn’t realized that I was hungry until I bit into the nutty flavored pastry. Judging by the ravenous manner in which he eats, Grogu seems to be enjoying his food as well. 

“I’ve never seen anything eat so uncivilized.” I laugh.

“Well we’re pretty far from civilization.” Mando jokes. It’s true that the dingy industrial planet corrupted by gangs is far from high society. 

Once all but Mando have eaten their fill, we rise to leave. I lay a stack of credits on the table but Mando pushes them back towards me. I nudge them back. He again shoves them my way. I refuse to back down and push them again back to where they sat originally. He sighs heavily and pinches half the stack off, dropping them on my side. I can’t help but laugh at our silent feud, and accept the deal of half payment. I excuse myself, telling them to go ahead. I have to use the restroom. 

“Can’t you wait till we get back to the Razor Crest?” He asks. 

“What? Why?” 

“Just-” He doesn’t finish.

“Why?” I wonder again. “I’ll be quick.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

He sighs, dropping back to his seat. “Corellia is a dangerous place and you’re a valuable target.”

I know he doesn’t mean that as a compliment but my heart skips a beat nonetheless. 

“Those guys over there,” he nods his helmet discreetly towards several rough looking diners. “They’ve been watching you.”

I can’t help but smile a little. “Yeah, no shit. Look at us! Our group is not exactly ordinary. Everyone watches.” 

“They’re scouts.” He says in his low voice. “They’re watching for other reasons. Look at their arms.”

I turn, pretending to scratch Spikes on the head, but really I glance over my shoulder at the group. They all bear a nasty insignia scarred into their biceps. It is a pointed rectangular figure encasing the skull of a bantha. 

“And what about it?” I ask. 

“They scout out fighters for arenas, gangs, and racers. You’re exactly the type they look for.”

“Uh-thank you?” I chuckle nervously. I can’t tell if he's looking at me or them or both. “I could take on any man or woman in this cantina,” I state matter of factly.

“I know you could.” He says flatly. “I just don’t want you to have to.” 

I watch him for a moment, staring at his glinting helmet. Try as I might, I can’t make out the tiniest detail of his face through the little black strip of visor. I hope for a response but get nothing. 

He stands, and moves for the exit. “But do what you want.”

A part of me genuinely does want to listen to him. I’m almost touched that he cares whether I get kidnapped or not. However, my bladder doesn’t care in the slightest. I have to go, and I know I can take care of myself. 

“Hey!” I call after him. Half the eyes in the cantina turn on me. “Watch this for me?” I press the bounds-collar controls into his gloved hand and make for the restrooms. 

I make it there just fine. After washing my hands, I keep one hand on a lightsaber though. It never hurts to be prepared. Using my free hand, I pull open the door to the little hallway leading back to the dining area. The premonition power of the force rushes over me all at once. I pull out my lightsaber but it’s already too late. I don’t see where the shot comes from, but I definitely feel it. It doesn’t hurt much, just a stinging on my upper leg. I grunt, looking down. There is a tranquilizer dart sticking out of my thigh. _There is a tranquilizer dart sticking out of my thigh_. ‘Oh fuck, he was right.’ 

“Damn it Mando this is gonna be embarrassing.” I raise my drawn lightsaber, scanning around for whoever shot the tranq. The hall leading back to the main area of the cantina seems empty though. Already my head hurts. Through the doorway back to the dining area I can see one of the scouts inconspicuously holster a tranq pistol. _Shit._ I have to go out there to reach Mando. He can’t be too far. 

The door to the men’s room flies open and two other scout men catch sight of me. They both bear the same insignia as the man who shot me. 

“Oh you clever little bitches,” I yawn. “I guess you’re professionals, huh?” My eyelids feel heavier than beskar armor. The men charge. I swing my lightsaber. Despite the narrowness of the hall, they both dodge. I swipe again but my wrist is growing lazier by the second. This is not good at all. I char the wall with another arch, leaving a line of ugly, geometric patterned, smoking wallpaper. An exhaustion settles so deeply in my muscles that I can barely keep standing. I can’t-can’t keep my eyes open. The men collide with me hard. I hit the wall. Their arms wrap about my body, hoisting me back upright. “No,” I whisper. I manage to get in one more good swing of my weapon before they knock it from my grasp and steal my second saber too. I hadn’t counted on being tranqued. In any other circumstances I could take these guys out with ease; but with my mind growing foggier with every passing minute…

Summoning every ounce of strength and awareness I have left, I strain to connect to the force. It meets my call readily but I am simply too tired to use it. I lose consciousness. 


End file.
